


this small wooden boat will be my throne

by nebulia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Disability, Disabled Character, Friendship, Growing Up, M/M, Making Out, Podfic Available, Slice of Life, Wingfic, neurodivergent character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 05:07:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10429806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulia/pseuds/nebulia
Summary: Volleyball's a sport where you're always looking up, which reflects Tobio's flightless life rather neatly.(Snapshots from high school, busted wings and all.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> A podfic of this fic by the lovely Rhea can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12678888)! 
> 
> First off, this takes place in an AU where everyone has wings. For detailed notes on wing physiology, check out [this](http://nebulia.tumblr.com/post/158789507103/notes-for-this-small-wooden-boat-will-be-my) tumblr post. The first half is said spoiler-free wing physiology notes; the second half more spoilery author's notes. I'm not 100% sure this fic makes sense without my explanation on how wings work in this AU, but I think it does? And it was just too long (~325 words rip) for me to want to throw it into these notes. 
> 
> TW: This fic deals with fantasy ableism and fantasy internalized ableism, but most of the nature of that ableism is grounded in reality. There are a lot of ableist microaggressions (including a couple by medical professionals), references to bullying, and a reference to a surgical procedure that in-universe has been used coercively. There’s also a fair amount of traditional ableist language as seen in canon (idiot, dumbass, etc). 
> 
> I don’t consider the actions of Tobio’s friends and teammates to necessarily exhibit best/perfect practices of interacting with a disabled friend or reacting to disability disclosure, but I do consider them to be good-faith steps towards combating societal and internalized ableism. Basically every character here are teenagers trying to figure their own shit out, and I think it’s reasonable to accept their efforts as a significant step in the right direction.

It wasn’t a secret in elementary school; it’s impossible for it to be a secret when there are flying sessions once a week during gym that Tobio can’t participate in, instead spending them bouncing a volleyball against the wall or running or doing anything but thinking of the happy shouts above him. In third grade, he gets a PT regimen, to be completed at least three times a week, because while he can’t fly it’s still unhealthy for wings to atrophy, and the joints need regular work. 

In middle school, there were captain’s flight sessions with the team, and Tobio hated watching them take off and then going to do the continuing onland wing strengthening. Oikawa lorded it over him, teasing Tobio the first few weeks of middle school until Iwaizumi hit Oikawa with a volleyball and hissed something low and furious in his ear that made Oikawa go white, and, on the last day of practice for the third-years, _apologize_ (“But I’m only sorry for making fun of you not being able to fly, Tobio-chan! The rest of it you deserved, nyaah~”). 

Tobio is awkward and can’t fly, but he has loved volleyball from day one, and despite the fact that no one really knew what to do with him, he managed to integrate into the team all right at first. He almost made friends, Kindaichi and Kunimi, and they went to movies, sometimes, until Tobio decided it was a waste of time better spent watching tape or practicing, and once down to Tokyo together to watch the national team. But Kindaichi and Kunimi flew together, too. Tobio never fully entered the inner circle. 

His second and third years of middle school, the captains were kind enough to end flight sessions as team bonding. It grated on his teammates, but they were winning and Tobio was a big part of that, and, at first at least, his yearmates were his friends. His teammates didn’t talk of why they didn’t fly as a team; it's awkward and uncomfortable, wing dysfunction, so his second year the first-years were the first people Tobio had ever been to school with to not know that Tobio couldn’t fly. It felt like a relief. 

So there weren’t flying sessions when he was a third year, either, and it was fine, or that part was fine, even if the team wasn’t fine, even if Tobio was tearing them apart--by third year, most of the team didn’t know he couldn’t fly, and they didn’t have to know he couldn’t fly, and that was fine, even when nothing else was. But he had never fully entered that inner circle, so it was easier to close the gate to keep him out, easier for him to turn his back on them. 

He doesn’t know how long he can hide it in high school, but team flying sessions never materialize. They walk to Sakanoshita to get meat buns after practice, and they spend time in the club room, and they don’t ever talk about flying as a group. The second and third years don’t complain about it, like it’s a given, and none of the first years ever bring it up to the upperclassmen; Hinata doesn’t seem to know it’s even a thing, though maybe he wouldn’t since he’s never been on a team before, and Tsukishima doesn’t seem to care, even though he and Yamaguchi fly home every day.

One time Yamaguchi brings it up; the first years are walking to Sakanoshita by themselves, and Yamaguchi asks Hinata why he still bikes when he could fly just as quickly.

“It gets tiring with my bags,” Hinata says. “And my parents don’t like the idea of me flying the whole way alone if the weather is bad or when it’s dark out. Biking’s great for my stamina in volleyball, too, and I get plenty of flight time with Natsu anyway, so it’s no big deal.” 

“I wonder why we never fly as a team,” Yamaguchi says, and Tobio’s wings tense up.

Tsukishima shrugs. “Some teams don’t. Maybe someone can’t fly or something. A lot of times the school will let the faculty advisor and the captain know that that’s the case after club registration, without saying their name, so it’s not awkward. But none of the upperclassmen seem to talk about it, so it’s probably been that way for a while, so it might have been one person once and then there wasn’t ever a tradition developed.” 

Tobio thinks about the nurse telling Takeda-sensei--telling _Sawamura_ \--about him. Do they know it’s him? Do they pity him? Do they think he’s less capable? Do they--

“Almost everyone flies a lot, though, just around and stuff,” Hinata says. “Do a lot of teams fly together?” 

Yamaguchi shrugs. “I think it’s okay, honestly. I’d rather walk with everyone anyway, it’s easier to talk to people.” 

“Yeah,” Tobio says, and Tsukishima snickers.

“The King’s such a stellar conversationalist,” he says, and it devolves into their normal bickering. This time, Tobio doesn’t even mind. 

\--

Tobio loves the wing compression shirts they’re all required to wear under their jerseys. Not just because they’re equalizers, but he finds them comfortable, tucking his wings against his spine.

“A lot of people with wing dysfunction wear wing compression shirts most of the time,” his physical therapist mentions. “You might be more comfortable.” 

Like hell. Tobio can’t fly, but he can spread his wings and fluff his feathers and _look_ like he can fly, and if his back is sore at the end of the day, it’s not a big deal. His wings are in good shape for not being airworthy, his doctor and PT say, and not wearing a compression shirt is his decision, up to whether or not the discomfort is bad enough. 

But they are comfortable. His teammates complain about them sometimes, during training camp when they’ve been wearing them all day, but Tobio likes how quiet and still they keep his wings, which sometimes spasm or cramp due to some synapse failure thing he’s never really fully understood. When they’re stripping them off before baths with the other first years Tobio doesn’t feel the need to groan with relief, but he does anyway, just in case anyone notices. 

He’s combing out stray tectrices one night at Shinzen when Tsukishima and Hinata come in, late from practicing with Kuroo. 

“What’s up?” Yamaguchi says, seeing something on Tsukishima’s face.

“Bokuto-san has wing dysfunction, apparently,” Tsukishima says. He takes off his glasses, cleaning them on his t-shirt. “He doesn’t really seem the type, but.” He shrugs.

Hinata’s already ripping off his compression shirt. “He’s still cool, though. And his wings are cool, too! But who knew? He’s so strong!” 

“Wing dysfunction happens to all kinds of people,” Tobio says, trying to sound normal. “Dumbass.” 

“Yeah, but it’s true people always think about it being someone fragile,” Tsukishima says. 

Tobio wants to argue, but he wants to be normal more. He bites his tongue. 

\--

That’s just it; Tobio’s not fragile. He’s prickly and irritable and he has no room in his head for anything but volleyball, and he’s not fragile. He doesn’t look anything like someone who’s supposed to have wing dysfunction. When he checked in with the school nurse, who had already received his file, she said, “ _You’re_ Kageyama? But you’re--” before she cut herself off. 

He thinks about asking Bokuto even after summer vacation camp is over. Sawamura and Akaashi and Kozume all probably have his phone number, and wouldn’t blink too long if he asked for it. 

He thinks about it when he sees a woman at qualifiers with a set of perfectly symmetrical scar tissue deposits instead of wings, and he thinks about it when she hugs Yamaguchi after they win, their freckled faces similar. 

“Your mom doesn’t have wings?” Noya says while they’re packing up. 

“She had them amputated,” Yamaguchi says, which isn’t uncommon. Sometimes people get it done as kids, even if they don’t want it. A doctor had suggested it to Tobio’s parents when he was eight, even after Tobio had refused, and they had never gone back to him. “It’s fine,” Yamaguchi adds, squaring his stance like he expects someone to protest. 

(He thinks about telling Yamaguchi, too, then, for a moment, but Yamaguchi would tell Tsukishima and sooner or later everyone would know, wouldn’t they?)

He’s not the only person with wing dysfunction at school; there’s a second year who wears a compression shirt all the time and another first-year whose wings are small and oddly-shaped. He’s thought about asking them; no one with wing dysfunction--as far as he knows--was in elementary or junior high with him. He’s only met people at PT on occasion, and no one he wanted to talk to about it. 

Bokuto likes volleyball, though, probably just as much as Tobio himself, though. He’s got tons of talent but he works at it, too, staying long hours for free practice, demanding tosses from setters who aren’t Akaashi and blocks from anyone willing, and Tobio feels like that’s the difference. If Bokuto has wing dysfunction _and_ plays volleyball, that’s all of Tobio. They’re different, but that’s at least the same. And Bokuto doesn’t seem fragile, either. Bokuto’s tall and powerfully muscled, broad-shouldered, and no one would look at him and say, “I bet he has wing dysfunction.” If Tobio told him, Bokuto wouldn’t look at him and say, “But you’re so healthy!” 

He’s never told anyone he had wing dysfunction who didn’t already know. Sometimes he thinks about telling Suga-san, about telling Hinata--they’re friends, right? Or close enough--but if he fucks it up, he has to see them every day. And when it comes to people, he’s more likely to fuck it up than not. 

They have two more training camps before the second round of qualifiers. Tobio’s going to do it. 

\--

It’s the last night of the last training camp before the second round of qualifiers before Tobio works up the courage to find Bokuto and talk to him.

“Oh,” Bokuto says from his futon, where he’s been leaning over Akaashi and Kuroo, who are pouring over a magazine. Tobio’s standing behind them, trying not to shake. “Kageyama-kun?” He blinks up at him, eyes round and gold. 

“Bokuto-san,” Tobio says. “Can I talk to you about something?”

Tobio doesn’t know what Bokuto finds in his face, but whatever it is makes him slap Akaashi on the back, between his wings, and hop up. “I’ll be right back,” he says. 

They stand in a hallway off to one side, in the dark, and Tobio wrings his hands, pinching the skin between his fingers. “You have wing dysfunction, right?” he finally blurts out. 

Bokuto nods, and smiles a little. “Sure do,” he says. “Apparently they didn’t form right in the womb, so when they sprouted they weren’t fully developed.” He opens his wings: they’re silvery gray, heavily dappled with black. His hair matches. “I don’t have a third joint for a flight wingspan at all, so they look cool but I can’t open them further. I thought about getting them amputated for a while but,” he shrugs, and grins, exuberant again. “I really like them! I wish I could fly but I think they’re pretty and I can still hit Kuroo with one when he’s being dumb, so.” He leans in. “You don’t seem like you’re asking just because you heard a rumor.” It’s a gentle opening, one that Tobio could deny if he wanted, subtler than he thought Bokuto could be. 

“I have. Full flight wingspan,” Tobio stutters. “But--there’s a motor control disorder, and my flight feathers are--” the words catch in his throat. He shuffles. His wings are tense, folded as tightly behind him as tightly as he can get them, and he can’t seem to stop his breath from quickening.

“Whoa, Kageyama-kun, it’s all right,” Bokuto says, grabbing his shoulders. “Shit. I’m not good at this. Should I get Sawamura or some--” 

Tobio shakes his head so hard he gets dizzy. “It’s fine,” he says. “They don’t know, though, so--” 

“Whoa, seriously?” Bokuto says. “I mean, I guess it’s not obvious, if you have a full flight wingspan.” He shrugs. “I mean, it’s not super obvious for me, either, unless I open them up all the way, but also it gets hard to hide after a while. And I told them about it, too.”

“Why?” Tobio says before he can stop himself, and then blushes. “Sorry, you don’t--” 

Bokuto laughs. “It’s seriously fine!” he says. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind talking about it.” He rubs his chin, thoughtful. His wings flutter as he does. “I told them because I trust them, and they help me sometimes. It just seemed like the thing to do. But that doesn’t mean it’s the right thing for you. Just for me!” He laughs again. 

“Did people--say things? Like, about you? Or make--think you were one way but you’re not?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Bokuto says. “And it’s pretty awful! And at first the team sometimes said things and it was like, that’s so wrong, how can you even think it’s true? But they’re my teammates and they trust me, and so when I tell them to knock it off they do. And they listen to me, when it’s important. And now they’re there to back me up if someone says something awful.” He peers at Tobio. “Your team likes you, you know. Well. I don’t know if Tsukki likes anyone.” Tobio snorts. “But everyone else does. They trust you to set for them but they also _like_ you. I think if you told them you’d be all right.” 

Tobio looks down. “Maybe,” he says. He looks at Bokuto again. “Thank you. I don’t--thanks, Bokuto-san.” 

“Any time!” Bokuto says. “You should practice with us during free practice tomorrow. We could use another setter!” 

“ _Really?”_ Tobio says. 

“Sure!” Bokuto pats him on the shoulder so hard it hurts, and Tobio can’t help but smile. When Tobio gets back to the room Hinata asks him why he’s making such a weird face and Tobio pokes him until Ennoshita and Suga pull them apart, and still he feels like he can’t not smile. 

He lies in bed that night, after everyone is asleep, and stares at Hinata’s face. Hinata’s on his side, facing him, scooched down on the futon so his head is off the pillow, and one of his legs is lodged near Tobio’s ribcage and Tobio has given up on getting him to move. On the other side of Hinata, head still mostly on his pillow, is Yamaguchi, drooling.

“I have wing disfunction,” Tobio whispers, so quiet he can barely hear himself. 

Behind him, he hears Narita stop snoring and shift a little. “Kageyama?” he says groggily. “Did you say something?” 

“Nothing,” Tobio says. “Sorry.”

“Don’ worry, was dreaming about a flying cactus that played libero, was weird,” Narita says, voice already drifting off into sleep again, and it’s still a secret but it doesn’t feel so heavy now. 

\--

It’s different in the daylight, when everyone’s awake and noisy and at least halfway obnoxious--telling them becomes harder again, less simple than it seemed standing in the hallway with Bokuto, or lying in bed late at night. 

It doesn’t matter so much, though; it doesn’t feel as big, now. It’s less scary to have a secret at all, even if he can’t tell anyone it exists. He watches Yamaguchi absently preening Tsukishima, who just started his yearly molt, while they eat breakfast and thinks maybe _sometime_ he could tell someone, and they could preen him. 

Hinata sits down with seconds next to him, mouth already full. “More rice?” he offers, or Tobio _thinks_ he offers, since it comes out sort of garbled. 

He takes the extra bowl Hinata brought him. “Thanks,” he mutters. Hinata has a stray feather popping out of his wings. Tobio elbows him. “You’ve got a--” he points. 

“Oh,” Hinata says, and reaches for it, but it’s too far back. Usually Suga-san does this--notices when his kouhai have strays that need a little preening before they shed them in a flurry when they take their compression shirts off at the end of the day--but Suga-san looks half-asleep right now, almost nodding off into his rice. 

“I can--” Tobio says, lifting his arm. “Uh. Can I?” and Hinata nods, and goes back to his breakfast, like it’s not a big deal. 

Tobio _can._ It’s just a feather. He swallows, and pulls it. It’d already been released, and was just trapped amongst the dense feathers of his scapulars. It’s not a big feather--though Hinata’s wings are smaller, it’s small yet, a lesser tectrix maybe, not even as long as Tobio’s hand. Hinata doesn’t even flinch. His wings are soft against Tobio’s fingers, and Tobio has to fight the strange urge to stroke them. “Got it,” Tobio says, and stands up to throw it away. 

“Fanks,” Hinata says when he gets back, while he’s still half drinking his miso. 

“Gross,” Tsukishima says. “Did anyone teach you table manners?” 

Hinata sets down his bowl and starts yelling. It’s just a normal morning in Tokyo. 

Maybe Tobio can convince himself that that’s true. 

\--

Miya sends Tobio all the tape from their games at Interhigh nationals second year (in exchange, of course, for tape from Karasuno, which after fierce debate--Miya’s team was seeded into a totally different bracket than Karasuno, these are teams we’ve never seen play before, is it worth it for Miya’s team to get the same chance at reconnaissance--get handed over). Tobio makes a copy to give to Ukai and then he snags Hinata in the club room after practice. “Do you wanna watch with me tomorrow afternoon?”

Hinata’s face lights up and then falls. “I already promised Natsu I’d go flying with her, I’m sorry,” he says. He looks up. “Maybe you want to come with us? You know Natsu likes you, though it’s a mystery why she would.”

Tobio casts about wildly. He’s never been asked directly to go flying before, and he doesn’t know how to answer. He almost says, _you know I can’t fly, moron_ , which is stupid because of course Hinata knows no such thing. He opens his mouth to say it and chokes on his own spit. He coughs, and says instead, “I have a checkup in the morning tomorrow, and there’s a wing efficiency test.” Honestly, Tobio knows very little about them, having failed his very first one at four years old, only that people with functional wings get them annually to ensure they can fly safely, and you’re recommended to not fly for twenty-four hours after administration. The lie falls out of his mouth really Tobio means to tell it, but it’s too late now. 

Hinata pulls a face. “Ugh, that sucks. Well, maybe Natsu and I can fly sort of early and I can come over after. I’ll text you.”

“You’d better,” Tobio says darkly, and pushes him in the head. “And Natsu-chan likes me because I’m fucking delightful, obviously.” 

Tobio’s only recently discovered this deadpan part of himself, and he’s still a little surprised when the sarcasm comes out. It startles a surprised laugh out of Yamaguchi and Tanaka both, and Tsukishima blinks owlishly at him for a moment before smirking. Hinata rolls his eyes, and then lights up. “Kageyama-kuuuun,” he says, loud enough for the whole team to hear, jumping up to ruffle his hair, “Kageyama-kun’s a _delight_ , did you hear? He’s the _most fun_.” Tobio shoves him away with a hand to the face, rubbing it in a little for good measure. 

“Of course I am,” he says stiffly, “Who else tosses to you whenever you want? Minami has a girlfriend, he’s too busy for your needy ass.” 

(Minami, a first-year and their backup setter, goes pink, as he has for the last two months when anyone mentions his girlfriend, a noisy first-year wing spiker for the girls’ team.)

Hinata stops giggling, pushing Tobio’s hand down, hand wrapped around Tobio’s wrist. “It’s just you,” he says, and his smile is genuine, not teasing at all. 

Tobio shoves himself back, looking away, and drops Hinata’s hand. 

\--

Three times a week, Yamaguchi, Kinoshita, and Tobio show up half an hour before morning practice to work on serves. More often than not Tanaka joins them, and Nishinoya as well, receiving on the other side. Hinata almost always comes as well, unable to turn down extra practice, but whether he serves or receives is up in the air. Sometimes other people show up: Minami’s usually there, and Matsumoto, who started out playing beach volleyball and is trying to make a sky ball serve work indoors. Tsukishima came for most of the spring and summer of second year while he was working on his jump serve, and Ennoshita usually comes once a week and works on his control. 

Tobio likes serve practice; the quiet morning air, the solidity of the ball against his hands, the time he gets to spend with teammates he doesn’t often play official matches with, being able to carefully focus on technique and form. It’s usually pretty casual; Tobio gets fully ready so he doesn’t have to change before formal practice begins but not everyone does. Kinoshita waits until the last minute to put his compression shirt on, and Yamaguchi often serves in his sweatpants still, especially as fall moves into winter. Tanaka’s confined his habit of ripping off his shirt to serve practice, even if it’s cold out, and so spends half of it shirtless, and Hinata’s usually in one of his dorky t-shirts from a tournament. 

This morning, Tobio’s not hitting anything for shit, distracted and grouchy. He slept funny last night, or something, and his right wing is tight and sore. It might not be a big deal but it messed up one of the nerves that spasms sometimes, and it won’t stop twitching, and every time he stretches up during a serve, it pulls painfully. 

Sleeping funny on a wing is no big deal--everyone does it, wing dysfunction or not--and he tries to play it off as just that. And it goes okay until he swears viciously after hitting _another_ goddamn home run, and Hinata, next to him and not yet in his compression shirt, thwacks him in the back with a wing. “Don’t be so vulgar, Kageyama, jeez!” he says, or Tobio thinks he says, because his wing has cramped up so badly he drops to his knees, a hoarse whine tearing itself from his throat, his vision going spotty for a moment.

“Kageyama? Kageyama!” Hinata’s voice is weirdly distant, but his face is suddenly in Tobio’s view, eyes enormous. There are other voices around him, gathering closer, crowding him, but he can barely focus on Hinata’s. “I didn’t hit you that hard, I thought--are you--”

“Cramp,” he grits out, and Ennoshita’s next to him, on the same level.

“You _really_ must have slept on it badly,” he says, wry even in his concern. “Will it be better out of your shirt?”

Usually he’d say no, but he thinks back to cramping up in PT and remembers that they would help him flex his wing out, and that would help ease the cramp. He nods, and Ennoshita’s helping him out of his t-shirt and the compression shirt underneath, and then Tobio thinks, _they’ll notice._

It flits through his head, almost unnoticed, a small leaf on on a swift river current. He barely hides it at all anymore, but it’s not as though it comes up. Distantly he thinks, _now is a good time to mention it_ \--but then Ennoshita’s pulling the compression shirt over his wings and he seizes all over again, hands tightening into fists. 

Yamaguchi says, “Give him some space, come on,” and Kinoshita’s saying, “Sorry, sorry,” and Hinata says, “Is he gonna be okay?” and Ennoshita says, “It’s your right one, yeah?”

“Yeah” Tobio says, breathing hard. “This--happens sometimes, it cramps, can you--help me flex it--” and he stretches his wing out, and hisses through his teeth.

The cramp’s near his shoulder, along the inside of his scapula, and Ennoshita holds his wing still while Tobio stretches it out and thinks he might throw up, his eyes watering. It’s really bad for long seconds that might be hours, and then--it passes. 

“Okay,” he says, panting. “Okay, hang on.” He stretches his wing a couple times. “You can let go,” he says to Ennoshita, and opens his right wing fully, slowly because that’s the only way his body will do it. Nothing cramps, though it twinges for a second. His PT will have a field day this afternoon. 

“Are you okay?” Ennoshita says.

“What was _that_?” Hinata says. 

Nishinoya bounds back into the gym. “It was a cramp, right, Tobio?” he says. “Here, this will help, I get them sometimes. I used to get them in my legs, too!” He hands Tobio a banana. “They have potassium, my mom says it helps with cramps. I usually only get them while I sleep! I would hate to get one during practice!” 

Tobio swallows. “Thanks,” he says. 

Yamaguchi hands him a water bottle. “You’re okay?” he says.

“Yeah,” Tobio says, after drinking. “Yeah, just need to stretch it out more, I guess. Sorry for disrupting practice.” 

“It’s fine, jeez,” Yamaguchi says. “It’s more important you’re okay.”

Tobio folds his wings in and the muscle tightens, but doesn’t cramp again. He pushes himself to his feet and moves back toward the stage. “I will be, it’s fine. I’m just going to stretch out a little,” he says.

Hinata wanders over to him as practice resumes slowly, looking drawn and even smaller than he usually does. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

Tobio kicks his shin, lightly, “Don’t apologize, dumbass. I didn’t know it was that bad, either.” 

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” Hinata says, and Tobio has the sudden, aching urge to hug him. 

“I’ll be fine,” Tobio says, and he’s pretty sure it’s true, for Tobio’s given value of “fine,” at least. He gestures to the team, and swallows. “You should--get back to work.” 

Hinata squints at him; Tobio suddenly realizes they’re standing closer than they normally would because Tobio’s wings are out and taking up space. Hinata--always radiating physical warmth--is close enough that Tobio can feel it, like sitting near a space heater.“You’re _sure_?” Hinata says, eyes focused intently on his face, unblinking and thoughtful, and no, Tobio wants Hinata to stay and talk to him about anything but the way his muscles ache, wants Hinata to be his usual sunny self and make Tobio feel normal again. He kicks Hinata in the thigh instead.

“Stop worrying, dumbass,” he says, and Hinata kicks his shin in retaliation before grabbing a stray ball and walking back to the serve line. 

Tobio even manages to rejoin five minutes later, though he forgoes serving to work on receives with Nishinoya, which seem to be stressing his sore wing less. 

It’s only as regular practice is starting that he realizes he had the prime moment to tell his team, or part of his team, about the wing dysfunction, and he missed it completely. 

\--

It almost doesn’t even bother Tobio that much to keep it a secret by third year, not when he’s given so much of himself to the team and they’ve all lodged themselves inside his ribs in one way or another. Maybe it’ll just be a secret forever, something he never tells anyone ever again, and two years ago that would have been a blessing, a miracle. Now he’s not so sure. 

Then a first year starts complaining about not having team flights.

“We had flights three times weekly in middle school,” Keta brags. “And we went to nationals all three years. Why don’t we fly here?”

It’s directed at all the upperclassman, but clearly pointed specifically at Yamaguchi, the captain.

“Well,” Yamaguchi says, “Our first year one of our senpai didn’t like flying. He and his sister were in an accident when he was younger, and he got nervous when he flew to acceptable soaring height outside. So we didn’t fly as a team. It wasn’t fair to him.” Yamaguchi smiles. “It’s easier to talk when you’re walking, anyway,” he says firmly, which Tobio suddenly remembers Yamaguchi saying when they were first years. “And we’ve been to nationals three times now, once this year with you, Keta-kun, without ever flying as a team, so I don’t think it’s a guaranteed indicator of team cohesion.” 

Tobio, Yachi, and Hinata exchange glances: that’s an Asahi story if they’ve ever heard one, but clearly none of them knew it. Even Tsukishima looks a little curious. 

“Well, the scaredy-cat senpai is gone, so what’s stopping us from flying now?” Keta says, and Yamaguchi’s face turns considering as Hinata sputters at the insult to Asahi-san, who is probably off at work sneezing right now. 

“It’d be fun to fly together,” Matsumoto says. 

“That’s true,” Hinata says. “I don’t see why we can’t once a week or so!” He’s clearly trying to smooth over the tension: this isn’t the first time Keta’s challenged Yamaguchi when he didn’t need to make it a power struggle, and Hinata’s been playing peacekeeper in ways that clearly are designed to seem capitulatory to Keta but actually aren’t. Turning Keta’s “we flew three times a week” to “mayyyybe once weekly” is only the most recent. It’s surprisingly underhanded for Hinata, who apparently listened to Suga-san a lot more than he let on. 

“That’s true, Hinata,” Yamaguchi says, considering. “We could.”

“No we can’t,” Tobio says.

For a long, burning second, he hates how comfortable he is with his team, how easy it’s become to say what’s on his mind even when he’s vulnerable, because he didn’t mean to protest like that. But panic is rising in him, thinking of Oikawa taking off without him, thinking of Kindaichi and Kunimi’s sullen expressions, quickly hidden under their careful--if slowly disintegrating--friendship, when their captain second year said they wouldn’t fly out of deference to Tobio. His team hasn’t had to know for two years and he liked how normal he felt most of the time, how much he felt like one of them. And it’s feeling like one of them that’s ruined it now, too. 

“What?” Tsukishima says.

Tobio’s a terrible liar, and the truth falls out before he can stop it. “I have wing dysfunction. I can’t fly.” 

There’s a long pause. Hinata and Tsukishima both open their mouths. 

Yamaguchi claps his hands. “That settles it, then, he says. “We fly together as a team or we don’t fly at all. Keta-kun, if you want more flight time, the flight track in gym is really fun. And, though we’d hate to see you go, there’s always the flying club.” He says it all lightly, but his eyes are hard as steel. “Come on, we’ll be late to practice.” 

\--

“Wing dysfunction,” Tsukishima says, after practice, and Tobio is suddenly more tired than he’s ever been in his life.

“Don’t,” he says, more quietly than he meant to, and Tsukishima blinks at him, clearly expecting a bigger reaction.

“You never said anything,” he says finally.

“Yeah, well, you never asked,” Tobio says sharply. 

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says, and then, softer, “Kageyama. You don’t owe anyone anything.”

Tsukishima snorts. “Oh, yeah, because if you can’t even tell your _friends_ this--”

 _“_ Shut _up_ , Tsukki,” Yamaguchi snaps, turning around to face him, and the club room goes silent. “If you’re able to be polite around my mom, you can be polite to Kageyama. And if you can’t, leave.” 

Tsukishima swallows, and Tobio watches a complex series of emotions that Tobio couldn’t begin to define play across his face. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, Kageyama.” 

He called them _friends_. Objectively, he guesses that’s right, or close enough; as much as they snipe at each other it’s not the way it was early on their first year. They’re never going to be having heart-to-hearts, but who’d want to have one with Tsukishima anyway? It sort of dulls the achy feeling in his chest, though that’s ruined by how, how mad, frustrated, upset, _something--_ Tsukishima is. And how Hinata’s barely looked at him since he found out, lost in thought and inscrutable. “It’s fine,” Tobio says. It’s not, but there’s nothing that can be done about that, and it’s not even Tsukishima’s fault, really, or anyone’s. “I didn’t tell you not because I don’t trust you, or because we’re not--”He still stumbles over the word--“Friends. I trust everyone on this team. It wasn’t about trust.” He grabs his bag and jacket. “I have to go,” he says.

He’s walking past the gym when Yachi catches up to him. “Kageyama-kun,” she says, breathing hard. “I just wanted to make sure you’ll be okay.” 

Tobio swallows. “It’s fine,” he says. 

“It’s a big secret to have out in the open,” Yachi says. “If you need anything, you know you can always talk to me, right?” She smiles up at him, and touches his arm, like she always has. Yachi is nervous sometimes, but she’s never been scared of him. Over the years she’s thrown the ball to him to toss a thousand thousand times, and now she stands next to him, close enough for her tree sparrow wings to brush against his with no thought that might be weird. 

“Thanks, Yacchan,” he says.

She smiles. and then hugs him, briefly and fiercely. “Have a safe walk home, okay? I gotta get back to the club room.” She squeezes him a little bit more. “Good work today.” 

“Good work today,” he replies, warmth lingering where her arms had been tight around his waist.“See you tomorrow.”

\--

He shows up early for serve practice because there’s no reason not to, and because Yamaguchi will work to get him alone if he doesn’t. Sometimes the path of least resistance is the easiest one, especially with Yamaguchi, who’s annoyingly persistent when he wants to be. He arrives fifteen minutes early, but the net’s already up and Yamaguchi’s fastening the pads around the posts when Tobio enters the gym, tying his shoes. 

Yamaguchi hasn’t said anything other than an absent “Morning;” he’s got his tongue between his teeth as he ties the pads, clearly focusing hard.

“I’m sorry,” Tobio says. 

Yamaguchi whirls around, eyes wide, and then shakes his head. “Tsukki’s right, it’s really weird when you apologize.” 

Tobio ignores him. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I should have told Sawamura-san and Sugawara-san, or at least Ennoshita-san, or I should have told you in the spring--”

“Dipshit,” Yamaguchi says, voice too fond for even Tobio to mistake it as an insult. “Knowing you, I’m just happy you trusted us enough to say anything.” He walks up to Tobio and grips his shoulder. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. Keta can fucking deal. This is part of being on a team, right?”

Tobio’s never been on a team like Karasuno’s, but he’s starting to realize that maybe this is how teams should be. He manages to move his face into some semblance of a not-scowl. “Right,” he says. 

It must translate right, because Yamaguchi’s smile widens, eyes lighting up. “Good,” he says. His hand tightens. “Tsukki’s not really mad, by the way. It was just a shock. You know how he is.”

Tobio rolls his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. 

Yamauguchi peers up at him. “You sure you’re okay?” he says. 

Weirdly, Tobio feels pretty okay. “I think so,” he says, trying out the words. 

“Good,” Yamaguchi says. “You wanna go get the balls from the equipment room?” 

\--

Between serve practice and real practice, Tsukishima corners him by the water bottles. “Look,” he says. 

“What?” Tobio’s not angry, not really, but he’s also too tired to play whatever it is they do; their careful relationship built by barbs and snide comments and, though it took time, mutual understanding of their needs on the court is worth it, usually, at least for the ability to tolerate each other around their mutual friends, the other third years if nothing else. But it’s also work and it’s tiring and Tobio had to learn to live with the way Tsukishima has always made him feel unsteady. And today he just doesn’t have the energy for it. The spoons, as his doctor would say. 

“You didn’t have any obligation to tell us,” Tsukishima says, and he must mean it because he says it like pulling teeth would be less painful. “I was upset because--because I didn’t like you’d kept this secret from us for so long. I thought we all knew each other well.” He doesn’t look at Tobio’s face. “But I know you didn’t think disclosing it meant that. And I shouldn’t have thought that’s what it meant. So I’m sorry.” 

Tsukishima looks as exhausted after that as Tobio feels, and it’s still not quite seven in the morning. “I--” Tobio says, and almost wants to throw it back in his face the way Tsukishima occasionally does, when Tobio’s tried to be good-willed. But Tsukishima doesn’t do that anymore, not like he did first year, and this is maybe more serious than volleyball, or at least people act like it is. 

He sighs. “It’s okay,” he says. “I came to high school never wanting to tell anyone, and then--then that changed, but by then I had kept the secret so long I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t know how to say it. So I never did. So, apology accepted.” He looks up at Tsukishima. “Are we gonna have to have another heartwarming conversation like this ever again?”

“I fucking hope not,” Tsukishima says, and walks over to Yamaguchi. Tobio sags against the wall, closing his eyes, overwhelmed. 

“You okay, Kageyama?” Hinata says, the first thing he’s said to him, practice aside, since Tobio told everyone.

“Tired,” Tobio grunts, and Hinata presses a warm hand to his forehead. When Tobio opens his eyes, Hinata’s are focused and thoughtful, assessing. Tobio wants to take his hand and hold it. 

“You don’t have a fever, I don’t think,” Hinata says. “But a serious conversation with Tsukishima would wear anyone out, right?” 

Tobio huffs, an almost-laugh. “Right,” he says, and pushes himself to his feet. “I’m okay. It’s time for practice.”

Hinata grins. “Right!” he says, and they make their way onto the court. 

\--

Hinata doesn’t say anything about it at lunch, either, or in the club room before practice, and he doesn’t act differently, like he had the day before. He’s the same Hinata, Tobio’s best friend and rival and the person who’s wormed his way into Tobio’s ribcage despite himself. Tobio doesn’t know if that’s good or bad, or what Hinata’s trying to say by acting like nothing has changed. 

That afternoon, they play a scrimmage and Hinata and Tobio split teams. Tobio’s prepared for what this means from the moment it happens, and sure enough, after practice, Hinata says, “Kageyama. Toss to me,” and they tell everyone they’ll lock up. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Yachi asks, and Hinata shakes his head, smiling.

“You should study,” he says. “I know you’re worried about that.”

Yachi smiles gratefully back at them. “Don’t stay too late,” she says.

They run through quicks and talk strategy for maybe an hour, which is pretty reasonable for them these days. They’re both sucking down some water when Hinata suddenly wipes his mouth. “Hey,” he says, and leans down to pick up some of the balls at their feet to put into the cart.

“What,” Tobio says, as he finishes drinking and starts picking up the water bottles lingering on the side of the court. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” Tobio grumbles, but gestures with a water bottle. 

“Your wings don’t look like Bokuto-san’s, or Emi-chan in 3-3,” Hinata says. “I’ve seen you stretch them all the way out.” 

_There_ it is. 

“Wing dysfunction is a set of disorders on a spectrum,” Tobio says, remembering his mother explaining it to the other mothers at a party once. “Mine’s a motor function problem. My brain can’t transmit information to my wings quickly enough to maintain flight. And my secondaries are misshapen, but that doesn’t really matter. From a short distance I can control a fall, but I can’t make my wings move quickly enough to fly. Bokuto-san’s wings don’t have the third joint for a flight wingspan, because his wings didn’t develop fully before growth, but his motor functions are fine. We talked about it once.” The last time he explained this to someone--over two years ago, to Bokuto--his throat closed up. He doesn’t know why it’s different with Hinata now.

“Oh,” Hinata says. “So you could jump off the catwalk.”

“You’ve seen me jump off the catwalk, dumbass,” Tobio says. He’s always managed to climb up without getting odd stares, usually to pick up a stray ball at the end of practice, and then stripped off his shirt and compression shirt while up there to jump off. Everyone does it, and it’s as close to flying as Tobio can get, anyway. 

“Oh, right!” Hinata grins. “Hey, come on.” He strips off his t-shirt, and then his compression shirt, unfurling his wings, then releasing to flight wingspan. 

“What,” Tobio says. 

“We’re gonna jump off the catwalk! I’ll take you up.” 

Tobio eyes Hinata, a whole twenty centimeters shorter than him now, and his Japanese robin wings. Hinata pulls a face. “I can lift you ten meters, you overgrown raven,” he says. “Come _on.”_

Tobio pulls off his shirt, and then his compression shirt, and opens his wings, stretching them. They’re a little stiff, and he flaps them a couple times, a feather fluttering to the ground. When he picks it up, it’s one of his deformed secondary flight feathers, only the length of his hand and the barbules uneven, which he occasionally sheds randomly outside of molt, since they’re essentially useless. 

Hinata watches him, open-mouthed, cheeks pink. “What,” Tobio says. “You’ve seen my wings before.”

“And they’ve always been pretty!” Hinata snaps, before blushing more. “Come on.” He flaps his wings and lifts off before Tobio can get over the compliment to mock him for even saying it ( _pretty_. His heavy rook wings, black and foreboding even if they weren’t useless? Ha), circling once around the gym before leaning down to grab Tobio under the arms, smushing his face against Hinata’s bare chest, still sweaty from practice. He stinks, but Tobio’s probably not much better. 

And then Tobio’s--flying. 

It’s not soaring--it’s Hinata’s wings beating furiously against the air to lift them both to the catwalk, their bodies rising above the ground. It’s not glamorous, not like sailing on a thermal current with the ground hundreds of feet below, but it’s still something Tobio could never, ever do. He watches the balls and the net and their shirts fall away below them, the court shrinking, and then Hinata’s dropping him unceremoniously on the catwalk, breathing hard.

“You’re heavy, Bakageyama-kun,” he singsongs, and Tobio shoves him. 

“I _told_ you, dumbass,” Tobio says.

Hinata rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t like I had to carry you to Tokyo, asshole.” He jumps to his feet and then climbs onto the railing, spreading out his wings. The coppery feathers catch the light. Hinata’s wings are pretty, too. He glances over. “Are you coming?”

Tobio climbs onto the railing, his wings spreading automatically to balance himself. He closes his eyes and imagines he’s standing on the roof, or a cliff, prepared to lift off and--

He jumps. His wings catch, opening wide, slowing his fall, and, he basks in the feeling of controlled freefall for a moment before, like always, he tries to make his wings move. _Beat, damn it_. 

They do, one solitary flap that softens his landing enough that it doesn’t jar his ankles, but useless otherwise.

Hinata hasn’t jumped yet. He’s looking at Tobio with an intensity he rarely has outside of games. It’s--embarrassing, or something, to be on the focus of that when he himself isn’t just as riled up. 

“Are you coming, dumbass?” he says, face hot. 

Hinata blinks, shakes his head. “Right, sorry!” He jumps too, landing more gently than Tobio did, touching down one foot at a time, letting his momentum carry him right up to Tobio, until they’re only standing a few feet apart. 

“I kind of get why you didn’t tell us at first,” Hinata says. “I’d probably have done the same. And I guess it would be pretty weird to just bring it up later, though we’ve had conversations where it wouldn’t be weird to mention it.” Tobio thinks about them talking about Bokuto, telling them, _I’m the same_ , about almost telling Hinata why he can’t fly with him and Natsu, about that moment when his wing cramped and he _wanted_ to tell them, even as he doesn’t want to think about the way he’d have been pitied, or mocked, or--just misunderstood, and how for a long time that had seemed infinitely worse than keeping the secret. “But--I’m sorry you had to live with a big secret for such a long time.” 

Tobio swallows. “I just--” _I just wanted to feel normal._ “I wanted it to not be an issue. I didn’t want to feel like I got special treatment, and I didn’t want to be resented because I was the reason we weren’t flying, or made fun of, or--” His words are spiralling out of his mouth and he takes a quick breath, composing himself. “And by the time I trusted everyone enough to say something, I had kept the secret for so long. It was just how it was. Telling you--” He stops. “I couldn’t. I thought about it a couple times, and I tried and I--I couldn’t. Until I did.” It sounds stupid even as he says it. 

“It’s okay,” Hinata says. “I mean, I wish you’d said something but, I--I see why you didn’t.” 

Tobio nods. “Thanks,” he says. “For not making a big deal out of it.” 

“Did you really think we would?” Hinata says, almost indignant, shoving him. “You dumbass!”

“I didn’t know what you would do!” Tobio says indignantly back, returning the shove. “Some people, it’s nothing and some people treat you totally differently, and in junior high they all resented me because I was the reason we didn’t have team flights and--”

“You idiot!” Hinata says, shoving him again, hard enough this time that Tobio loses his balance and falls over. “You should know by now we’re a million times better than your dumb junior high!!”

Tobio blinks up at him, and remembers Suga-san surprised that Tobio would respect him, remembers Sawamura trusting him enough to talk positioning only weeks into club, remembers Ennoshita saying, “You’ve got a feather here,” during a tense practice match second year and snagging it out of Tobio’s hair before poking him with it, remembers Nishinoya handing him a banana and informing him about potassium with zero ulterior motive. 

“Right,” he says, and drags his hand down his face. 

Hinata kneels down in front of him. “We’re a good team,” he says. “We’ve always been. You and me, but all of Karasuno. And we--we all like you.” 

“I know,” Tobio says, and lies back, spreading his wings across the court and draping a hand over his eyes. “I’m just--”

“Being dramatic,” Hinata says, and flops down on top of him. 

“Hey--” Tobio shoves at Hinata, who pokes the spot just below his keel ribs that’s helplessly ticklish and laughs when Tobio squeaks. “You dumbass, get off--stop--” Hinata pokes again, and again, and Tobio finally can’t stop the huff of laughter from escaping.

Hinata grins. “You’re so stupid,” he says, so fondly Tobio’s a little embarrassed for him. He’s braced himself over Tobio on one elbow, and he looks down at him weirdly, eyes lit up with that same intensity he has late in games, up against the wire. 

“Hey, Kageyama,” he says suddenly, and his eyes are _burning_. “Kageyama, can I kiss you?”

Tobio sputters. “ _What--_ you want to--” He looks up at Hinata, his hair backlit by the gym lights, like a halo. “Me?” he says, and hates how vulnerable it sounds.

Hinata rolls his eyes. “Yes, you, stupid. Who else would I kiss?”

Tobio doesn’t really want an answer to that question. It seems like a lot of people would kiss Hinata if they had the chance, sunny and cheerful and undeniably handsome nowadays, his jaw more defined than it was when they were first years and his wild hair looking more “deliberately mussed” (though Hinata doesn't actually deliberately muss it) than the shitty bedhead it used to. He’s not tall, but there are still lots of girls who are shorter than him, and he got chocolates last Valentine’s from girls taller than him, too. He’s a small bundle of muscle, his back lean and smooth, his thighs thick with explosive energy, the lines of his quads droolworthy and defined. Who _wouldn’t_ kiss Hinata?

“Can I?” Hinata sad again. “Kageyama, I really want to kiss you.” His cheeks are flushed and now he looks nervous, like he thinks Tobio will punch him. Which Tobio wouldn’t do, unless Hinata was being a huge dumbass, which, okay, is most of the time, but not right now. 

Tobio wants to kiss Hinata. 

“Y-yeah,” Tobio says, and Hinata grins so widely Tobio can almost see his molars and then leans down and kisses him, his wings spreading out above them.

It’s Tobio’s first kiss, but he’s pretty sure it's not Hinata’s; he dated the libero from the girls’ team their second year. She was as tiny and loud as Hinata was but about fifty times smarter than him, tended to burst into flight when she was excited, and generally reflected everything Tobio wasn’t. Yachi had introduced her as a potential tutor for Hinata in geometry, since it was Yachi’s worst subject and Hinata was failing even more dramatically than he did in most classes, and they’d dated for almost two whole months before breaking up during lunch one day. They’d held hands pretty much the whole time they’d dated; there’s no way Hinata never kissed her.

He seems like he knows what he’s doing, his mouth soft even though his lips are chapped. He’s barely there, and Hinata’s small but he’s not _that_ light, and Tobio realizes he’s hovering, wings fluttering to support himself above Tobio, and Tobio reaches up to put his hands on Hinata’s waist. They feel big and ungainly against Hinata, all tightly coiled lean muscle, but Hinata sighs a little into his mouth and relaxes down into him a little more, his eyes fluttering shut, his teeth catching at Tobio’s lower lip and pulling, for a second, before he pulls back. 

“Was that okay?” he says. His mouth is shiny wet and Tobio can feel the indent of his teeth in his own lip. “I liked it,” Hinata says, nervously. “You liked it too, right?”

Tobio licks his lips. “Yeah,” he says, and sounds sort of breathless.

“I can do it again?” Hinata says, grinning. He looks like he’s just had a really good spike. 

Tobio nods. His fingers are tight against Hinata’s keel ribs. He squeezes and Hinata shivers a little against him. “Y-yeah,” he says, and Hinata ducks back down in to kiss him again. His fingers brush against Tobio’s hair, and then they touch Tobio’s wings spread out under them, almost stroking, and Tobio gasps, a little bit, that Hinata wants to touch his wings. That Hinata doesn’t care. 

When he was little, when everyone still knew he had wing dysfunction, no one touched them or even wanted to get near them; wing dysfunction’s congenital, not contagious, but they were “weird,” people whispered, and Tobio kept his wings closed up tight against his back and out of people’s way. By junior high it was verboten to touch someone else’s wings without their permission, and Tobio was always afraid someone would see his flight feathers and ask, even though they only really look messed up if you know what you’re looking for. And then things went south and no one _wanted_ to touch Tobio’s wings, and he might have punched them if they’d tried anyway. He wasn’t close enough with anyone to get preened by them, not the way Kunimi and Kindaichi did during training camp, or Iwaizumi did mindlessly to Oikawa on long bus trips. It was habit to keep his wings tight up near his body anyway. 

Suga-san had offered help with preening once, during the worst of Tobio’s first molt at Karasuno; Tobio had turned him down and wanted it so badly he’d dreamed about it for three straight nights, Suga-san humming behind him, sinking his fingers into Tobio’s wings. 

Hinata touches Tobio’s wings and sighs into Tobio’s open mouth and keeps kissing him, sinking down between Tobio’s legs, settling more of his weight against him. Tobio’s thighs clench around Hinata’s hips despite himself, and he makes--a _sound_ , something foreign even to him, something hungry and wanting, into Hinata’s mouth. 

Hinata pulls away, breathing hard; he doesn’t go far, pressing their foreheads together. His cheeks are red. “I thought about this,” he says. “I thought you wouldn’t--I didn’t think you would--I _wanted--_ Kageyama--” and Tobio reaches up and grips the back of Hinata’s neck with one hand, pulling him back down. His skin is still a little clammy from training sweat, warm under Tobio’s hand, and his mouth opens as it crashes into Tobio’s, kissing him with teeth and tongue, messy and wet, hard enough to hurt. It’s nice. Tobio didn’t think kissing would hurt, but he likes it. Likes the way he can feel his lower lip swelling against Hinata’s teeth, the way it leaves his whole mouth tingling, something tangible left behind. Hinata rocks his hips into Tobio’s, his fingernails digging into Tobio’s wing deep enough for him to feel it against the roots of his feathers, and Tobio’s legs lock around Hinata’s hips, pulling him in. 

“Your legs,” Hinata says, into his mouth, messy. His teeth catch on Tobio’s jaw, his chin. Hinata might have a modicum of experience on him but neither of them really know what they’re doing, and it’s sloppy and Tobio likes it. He noses along Hinata’s hairline, his temple, smelling sweat and shampoo. “They’re so long, sometimes I just--” he kisses Tobio again, like he can’t get enough of his mouth. Tobio’s hand tightens in Hinata’s hair, and he presses back, pushing up. He can feel Hinata’s wings fluttering against his arms. 

“Hinata,” he says, and Hinata kisses his cheek, his jaw, clumsy, his whole chin wet from kissing Tobio. “Hinata, _Hinata--”_

Someone pounds on the door to the gym. “Hinata! Kageyama! We’re locking up the school!” 

Tobio pulls away. “Ono-sensei,” he gasps, and watches the color drain from Hinata’s face. 

“We have to clean up!” Hinata yells, getting off Tobio so quickly he has to use his wings to keep from falling over and grabbing his t-shirt, yanking it on. “Sorry, sensei--” he throws open the doors, letting in the cool early fall air. Tobio’s already got a handful of balls, taking them over to the storage room and making some noise inside to hide the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt. He can hear Hinata say, “We lost track of time! But we’ve got the gym key, we can lock up,” laughing nervously, and Ono-sensei sighing, and saying, “You two--call your parents, all right? It’s too late for you to bike over the pass by yourself. I’m sure Kageyama-san will give you a ride.” 

He hears Hinata shut the door, and then he comes over to the storage room, handing him his compression shirt and t-shirt. Tobio pulls them both on without looking at Hinata, and when he does, grabbing the dust mop, Hinata’s pink-cheeked again, avoiding his eyes. 

“I like you,” Tobio says. He regrets it for a second, and then he doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to have to lie to Hinata anymore, not even by omission. “I--you’re--” _annoying, and dumb, and you’re obsessed with volleyball, and--I’m all those things, too, so--_

Hinata lights up. He steps around the ball cart, and pushes himself up onto his toes to get closer to Tobio’s face, smiling, the dust mop trapped between them. “I like you too,” he says. “Go out with me.” 

“I can’t go on flying dates with you like Minami and his girlfriend,” Tobio says. 

“Volleyball’s better than flying,” Hinata says, “So I don’t really care.” 

“Oh,” Tobio says. 

“Go out with me,” Hinata says again, and pushes up to kiss him again. 

Hinata has gotten really good at wearing him down, especially when he wants to be worn down. “Yeah,” Tobio says, breathlessly. “Did you think I’d say no? Dumbass.” 

\--

“Volleyball’s better than flying, huh?” Tobio says as his mom drives Hinata over the mountain, their pinkies touching between them on the backseat in the dark. Tobio’s mom saw something in his face that made her smile as she loaded Hinata’s bike into the trunk, and when she got in the car she turned her enka music up louder than she usually does, the sound muffling their conversation. 

“Yeah!” Hinata says. “Volleyball’s flying without wings, but it’s a million times more satisfying. I can fly whenever, you know? It’s easy, like walking, even if it’s way cool.” Tobio swallows, his fingers tightening into a fist. “But volleyball--I have to _work_ for it, and I can’t do it alone, and when we do a quick and it’s perfect--when we _win_ \--” Hinata’s eyes are shining, reflecting the clock on the dashboard. “When I’m at the top of a jump and I can see the course laid out for me--that’s all so much better than flying. Why would I ever pick flying over any of that?” 

Tobio’s sure there are people who would say that and not mean it, who would say it to try and make him feel better; but Hinata loves volleyball as much as Tobio does; Hinata works harder than anyone Tobio’s ever known. Hinata would never lie to him, not about how he feels about volleyball. 

Hinata’s hand touches his, carefully working Tobio’s tightened fingers open and linking them together. Tobio glances at him, and Hinata looks hopeful and _affectionate_ ; Hinata doesn’t mind that Tobio’s dour and grumpy and _grounded_. 

Unbidden, he thinks about first year, about Shimizu-senpai and Takeda-sensei unfurling their banner before Interhighs. _Fly,_ it had said, and they had, and they still do, without ever once opening their wings. 

Tobio’s only as grounded as any other volleyball player. There are other ways to fly. 

**Author's Note:**

> Excessively detailed author's notes can be found in the lower half of [this post](http://nebulia.tumblr.com/post/158789507103/notes-for-this-small-wooden-boat-will-be-my) at my tumblr. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](nebulia.tumblr.com) and [twitter](twitter.com/bokglobulia) and would loooove to talk Haikyuu!! (or disability, or nd kageyama) with anyone!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [this small wooden boat will be my throne by nebulia [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12678888) by [Rhea314 (Rhea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Rhea314)




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